I'll Be Here
by HaiJu
Summary: Some days you can't pick yourself up. Having family means you don't have to. Danny-centric, three oneshots. Completely shameless hurt/comfort. Bring tissues… and antiseptic. Cover art by Ectology on Tumblr.
1. Darkest Hour

**I'll Be Here **

by Haiju

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><p><strong>Darkest Hour<strong>

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><p>Maddie stared at the ghost huddled on the bathroom sink. She stood at the threshold of the bathroom, empty glass in hand. It was well past 3 am.<p>

Phantom had curled up in the smallest ball possible, forearms pressed against the sides of his head, fingers tangled in messy white hair. The top half of his jumpsuit hung loose around his waist, exposing pale, faintly glowing shoulders. A pair of white gloves lay crumpled on the floor.

The ghost boy was crying. Not just a little, but real, hard sobs that made his shoulders shake with each heaving breath; almost silent, only now and then a whimper escaping through tightly clenched teeth.

He hadn't noticed her yet.

Maddie hovered in the doorway, weighing her options. She was in her pajamas with no weaponry to speak of. She could run back to her room and retrieve the ecto-gun from under her pillow… but the sound of it powering up could rouse her husband from a dead sleep. Jack would want to know what she was doing, and Maddie wasn't sure she wanted to bring him into this just yet.

They weren't exactly on good terms with this ghost. It had been six months since the Pariah Dark incident. The teenaged ghost had taken their exoskeleton and flown off outside the shield. That's all they knew. An hour later the town had returned to its proper dimension as mysteriously as the incident had begun. They had no evidence proving that Phantom had defeated Pariah Dark. People jumped to their own conclusions. They called Phantom a hero, but Maddie hadn't been convinced.

Instead, she'd developed a burning curiosity. What drove this strange ghost that everyone seemed to accept as a force for good? She'd gone out of her way to study Phantom, with suspicion at first, then growing interest. The results had been… puzzling. He did, in fact, prevent other ghosts from doing harm. He rarely exhibited the aggressive tendencies of other ghosts. In fact, he seemed to actively defend humans when they got in harm's way.

Phantom was an enigma, certainly. But an enemy? Maddie could no longer believe it.

Now here he was, inches from her, crying as if the whole world had fallen apart.

Questions circled in Maddie's mind. _What are you doing in my house? How long have you been here? What do you want, ghost?_

A little to her surprise, what came out instead was, "Are you alright?"

Phantom's head jerked up and he looked at her with wide, red-rimmed eyes. He gasped and scrambled up, then tripped over himself and fell backwards into the shower curtain. The ghost flailed and crashed through it into the tub. Shampoo bottles and soap clattered in all directions.

Maddie winced at the racket; luckily Jack and Danny were heavy sleepers and Jazz was out of town. A pitiful groan sounded behind the curtain. She pushed it aside to find Phantom lying face-up in the bottom of the bathtub, arms and legs askew.

"Still here?" she asked mildly.

"Too tired to phase," he mumbled, eyes dropping. He glanced up at her sidelong. "You gonna shoot me?"

She raised her empty hands.

Phantom rolled onto his side, wincing, and pressed his cheek into the white porcelain. "Then could you go away?"

"This is my house."

"Sorry." His voice sounded choked and a little too high, like he was ready to burst into tears again.

The shower curtain was streaked with green. So was the floor, the counter, the inside of the sink. "There's ectoplasm all over my bathroom," Maddie stated.

"Sorry."

She looked around and realized that the first aid kit sat on the toilet, half open and with its contents spilling out onto the floor. "Were you...trying to bandage yourself?"

He curled in on himself, breath hitching. "Sorry."

Maddie sighed. This was probably a bad idea, but...

Picking up the kit, she sat on the closed lid of the toilet and settled it in her lap. She patted the side of the tub. "Sit down. I'll fix you up."

The ghost didn't move. "What happened to dissecting my smoking remains?"

"What happened to the fearless hero?"

Phantom looked away miserably. "I'm no hero."

Maddie blinked. That...wasn't a very characteristic response. She studied Phantom again.

Injuries littered his arms and chest, half-hidden behind a patchwork of gauze and band-aids. Bruises painted his young torso and arms like mottled, abstract tattoos, some aging out and almost gone, others vivid with green-black blood pooling fresh beneath the skin. Eyes, sunken and shadowed, stared glassily into the distance, as if he'd gone days without sleep. His fingers, cradled under his chin, twitched nervously. He seemed...strung out. Exhausted. Spent.

"Let me help you," she coaxed, a little more gently than she'd first intended.

Those nervous fingers clenched into fists. "No."

Ectoplasm had begun pooling round the drain, and fell into the pipe with a faint but steady drip. "You're still bleeding."

"What do you care? Just leave me alone."

Maddie knew it didn't make sense. She wasn't even sure of her own motivations; only that it felt too pitiful to see him like this.

She leaned forward and let her voice slip into a whisper. "You know what happens if you stay in that tub, right?"

Phantom stared up at her, dull fear flickering up behind the exhaustion. "What?"

Maddie put on her most serious face. "You'll turn into a raisin."

The ghost's face twisted into blank surprise. "I'll... uh?"

Maddie leaned back and crossed her arms. "It's true! You'll shrivel up and then I'll have to explain to my family why there's a giant ghost raisin in the bathtub." That earned a tiny grin; Maddie felt gratified. "That'd take far more explanations than I'd care to go through, so you'd better get out of there."

Phantom covered his face with his hands and chuckled. "That's the stupidest argument I've ever heard."

"As stupid as choosing a ghost hunter's bathroom to do your first aid?"

He peeked up through his fingers, considering. "Maybe."

She offered him a smile. "Then I win."

"...fine."

Phantom held his left arm close to his body and levered himself up with his right. Pulling his legs into a crouch, the ghost gingerly turned to sit on the edge of the tub. There was something a little heart-wrenching in the way he so easily exposed his back to her. Maddie was his enemy; he was too naive.

Maybe so was she, sitting here unarmed bare inches from the most powerful ecto-entity in Amity Park.

All thoughts ground to a halt as she caught sight of the jagged wounds that marred the ghost's back. Four long, deep parallel cuts ran from the top of his left shoulder and curved into his side. They started deep, dark green flesh gleaming through a brighter coating of ectoplasmic blood, tapering into ribbon-thin cuts.

Maddie folded a square of gauze in half and dabbed at the wounds. Phantom hissed and stiffened, but to his credit didn't jerk away.

"What did this?" She asked as she worked. A muddy reddish liquid mingled with the green that oozed down his back. She wondered darkly if ghosts could get infections.

"Friend of mine."

She wiped away more ectoplasm, exposing bruises on the skin beneath, blossoming out from the cuts as if from a vicious impact. "Some friend."

Maddie saw Phantom's neck stiffen. His voice turned angry, defensive. "It wasn't his fault! Walker was controlling him. Not just a shock collar either, this time they did some kind of brainwashing."

Maddie took a roll of gauze and leaned forward to wind it around Phantom's chest, looping it over his shoulder and covering the wounds inch by inch, binding it as firmly as she dared. She wanted to make sure it lasted at least a day; with this ghost's tendency to get into fights, he'd be lucky to keep any kind of bandaging for more than a few hours.

The ghost boy's shoulders drooped. "Wulf wasn't even _in_ there anymore. His eyes were all… empty, you know?"

To her, all ghosts' eyes looked empty. She hummed noncommittally, but Phantom didn't seem to notice.

"I tried to… to just wound him or knock him out, but whatever they did to him... he just kept getting up." A shudder ran down the ghost's frame. "No matter...what I did...he just..."

"But you beat him." Maddie had seen him tangling with ghosts before. He seemed to enjoy it, throwing out clever remarks and grinning at the news helicopters after he'd sucked up his opponent in a stolen thermos.

"Yeah." Phantom stared down at the hands that sat limp in his lap. His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "I tore him apart."

Maddie paused, chilled by the finality of those words. She glanced at those hands over his shoulder.

The ghost's hands seemed so deceptively ordinary. His skin, though pale and faintly glowing, could have been human, but the tendons and muscles that knotted under the skin were like cords of steel. This close, the ghost's aura buzzed like an exposed power line. Glancing over his shoulder, Maddie saw dark green embedded under his chipped, broken nails.

"What a monster, right?" Phantom said, voice dull.

A monster killing another monster, Maddie thought automatically, but said nothing. A strange monster, though. One that seemed completely invested in defending humans from his own kind. Who seemed to prefer fighting the same enemies over and over to destroying them. Who, day after day, gathered scrapes and bruises to prevent strangers from suffering.

Maddie shrugged, though he couldn't see it. A ghost hunter couldn't answer such a question. "What could you have done?"

"Hide—tie him up, something. Or, you know." He hesitated; picked at a scab on his thumb. "Not fight back."

She frowned as ugly green seeped through the gauze, retracing the clawmarks. She wound on another layer. "You can't mean that."

"What was I supposed to do?!" He dragged his hands through his hair, gripping fistfuls of the dirty white strands. Bright green fluid oozed through the band-aids on his knuckles. "I didn't want to hurt him I… I just—" His voice sank so low that she barely heard it. "I didn't want to die."

"I see," she said hesitantly. She didn't see at all. For the first time, Maddie wondered just how aware ghosts might be of their own fragile claim to existence. And yet… and yet, for him, it was real. For him, it was life or death, even if she couldn't call it living in the sense that humans understood it. "Phantom, it's okay to—"

"It is _not_ okay!" He jerked away, yanking the bandages from her hands as he turned on her. Green fire burned in his eyes, feral, dangerous, and inhuman. Static crackled through the ghost's hair and it bristled like a dog's hackles.

"I ki-I _killed_ my friend, just to save my own hide. I did that, don't you get it?!" He swept his hand through the air in a vicious gesture. "There is _nothing_ okay with somebody who'd do that."

Maddie gazed at him, then slowly shook her head. She didn't have to know exactly what happened; Phantom wouldn't have hurt anyone if there had been another choice. That wasn't the ghost she'd been studying the past few months. Neither was this frightened child in front of her.

"Phantom, it's okay," she said again, softly.

The ghost stumbled back into the wall and sank to the floor, covering his head with his arms. "I didn't want to...I didn't..." he broke off with a sob.

Maddie set aside the kit and knelt next to Phantom, putting a hand on his shoulder. A chill seeped through the gauze and bit into her skin, but she ignored it. She reached under Phantom's chin and tipped it up so that his eyes, red-rimmed and wet, met her own steady gaze.

"It's okay."

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><p><strong>AN:**

_For some reason I ended up with three oneshots where Danny suffers and his family picks up the pieces. So here you go, a micro-anthology of family H/C. The remaining two will be posted sooner or later. Hopefully sooner._

_This chapter is dedicated to **neongreenlightning**, whose cosplay post sparked the inspiration for this piece. Thanks to **Anneriawings** for beta reading and **Sarapsys**, **Aqua-Twin**, **Lunar Mothim** for your feedback and help!_

_As always, thanks for reading! Any concrit would be welcomed. :)_

_PS:**If you want to know where I am with SoaD**, please check the SoaD progress reports! Link's in my profile._

_-Hj_

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><p>ETA: Edited on 49/16


	2. Thicker Than Blood

**I'll Be Here**

by Haiju

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><p><strong>Thicker than Blood<strong>

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><p>"So, uh...what color thread?"<p>

Danny has his eyes screwed tightly shut, so he can't see my slack-jawed stare. "What?"

"You know, what color—" he flinches as I push the needle through the skin again. "—are you using?"

We don't have anything to numb the pain. I don't know how he's taking it. Heck, I don't know how _I'm _taking it. If we weren't fifty miles away from the nearest working phone I'd be running screaming for help right now, secrets be damned.

"I don't see how it matters." I carefully pull the thread tight, drawing the jagged edges of the wound together. It has to hurt like hell, but Danny just goes on talking.

"I wanna know if it matches my—" Another stitch. Another sharp intake of breath; if he clenches his teeth any tighter, they'll crack. "—my eyes."

I chuckle despite myself; it comes out shaky and way too unmanly. I cough to try to cover it up, and Danny's mouth quirks up in a smirk. I shake my head and let my eyes fall back to my work. I have to be careful. The needle's already slippery and green in my hands. "How come _you're_ the one making _me _laugh?"

That's supposed to be _my _job; I'm the resident goofball. I'm not usually the one who gets worried, and I'm sure as hell not a medic. Machines are my thing; I fix technology, not people. I just like to sew and happen to be good at it.

"You're doing the hard part right now. I just have to hold still. Besides—" Stitch, hiss, pull. "Distractions are good."

I can't see the wound anymore; too much of the viscous green fluid has oozed out across the skin. I snatch up Danny's discarded t-shirt and wipe it away. The shirt's already ruined, spotted with green and that one big red stain from when he'd lost the transformation for a minute. That—that had been...

I gulp. Distraction. Right.

"Did I ever tell you why I started sewing?"

It makes it easier that it's green. Easier for me, at least. After all the time I've spent in the lab and fighting ghosts, I'm used to being covered in ectoplasm. I can even half-pretend it isn't blood. Then I see muscles twitch through the gaping skin and I'm reminded.

"So you could make your own clothes and be prettier than all the other boys?"

Nausea twists in my gut. I push it aside, making yet another careful stitch. "Your grandma made me learn."

"Grandma did?"

"I broke a ton of her nice dishes this one summer, so she sat me down and made me embroider for an hour every day. Said I needed more hand-eye coordination." It was a big help once I got into technology; I still credit my ability to handle tiny little screws to the hours of poking my big clumsy fingers full of needle holes.

"Turns out sewing is good for a lot of things. Patience, accuracy, an artistic eye. Also patching up the occasional superhero."

"Which is why I leave it to you. My—" he flinches. "My sewing is terrible."

I can suddenly picture Danny, twisting around as he tries to pull together his own skin, hands slipping through the green ooze that's currently chilling my fingertips. That's not even funny as a joke. "I don't know whether you're brave or just stupid."

A hint of defiance leaks into his voice. "I took care of the ghost. Notice us, here, not dead? The world not under evil domination?"

"Yeah, you got him. But not before he got you."

He gives the barest hint of a shrug. "Hazards of the job."

I yank too hard and the thread comes right out of the needle. "What _made _it so hazardous was you flying off without me!"

"Did you want me to just let it get away?"

"Maybe! I'm supposed to back you up, Danny. I had to spend twenty minutes tracking you down! If I had been late… if I hadn't gotten there..." I have to stop. My hands won't steady, no matter how much I glare at them. "You shouldn't have gone alone," I growl.

Danny's eyes open and he looks at me. The ghostliness in this form lends them an eerie, watchful glow; I feel like he's staring right through me, like he's somehow much older than his sixteen years. "Does that really matter now?"

I gape at him, torn between arguing the point and stalking out of the van and wreaking misplaced vengeance on the tires.

What, rushing off and nearly getting himself killed? Ignoring my help just because—I don't know, I'm not a ghost? I'm not a good enough ghost hunter for him? _Did it matter? _He's not the only thing standing between humanity and ghosts, and if he doesn't quit acting like it, he'll… He could have… Just thinking about it makes me furious.

Then my brain catches up and I realize he's getting even paler. Lit up like it is with his aura, his skin's almost a flourescent green-white. Beads of green sweat hover weirdly just above his skin. His gaze is angry, but full of exhaustion, ringed by dark circles and hazy with pain.

If I want to help Danny, it has to be now. I clench my hands for a half moment more, then pick up the t-shirt and gently wipe away the oozing ectoplasm. Re-thread the needle. Tug the stitch tight. Plunge it through the next fold of skin.

"Sorry," I mutter half-heartedly.

The eyes slide shut and he prods my shoulder with a gloved finger. "Color," he says firmly. "I demand to know." No sign of the earlier anger; maybe because he knows deep down that I'm right. I decide to let it slide, for now.

"Purple," I confess. "Green would match, but then I wouldn't be able to see what I was doing, and I have red, which I know that's your favorite color, but it would disappear in the—in the blood when you changed back—"

He's shaking.

"Danny?" Panic slices through me as the needle yanks from my hands—I _knew _this was a bad idea, I shouldn't have let him convince me—now he's—

"You're killing me—" he gasps out. "I can't believe you—put so much _effort_—" With a rush of relief I realize he's laughing. "You actually thought it through—

I scratch the back of my head and grin weakly. "Silly, I guess."

"Ow, owowow, no more." Tears stream out of his eyes and he curls up on his side as laughter turns to real pain. Bright white light flashes and splits, exposing a few inches of bare human skin.

For the second time in as many minutes, my heart jumps into my throat. Blood is thinner than ectoplasm; add in a pulse and a gaping wound like this, and it's a bad combination; really, really bad. If he changes back before we can get it stitched and bandaged...

His fingers claw at the edge of the back seat and I can see the tendons in his neck as he fights it. With painful slowness, the rings of light fuse back together, then flicker out.

"Three more," I say quickly. "Three more and we'll be done."

Danny grips the upholstery and nods. "Just do it."

In out, in out. I'm moving faster now, and my thumb stings from more than one jab of the needle. A few spots of blood mingle with the green. I wince and hope that won't make him sick later. Danny glares at the ceiling unseeing; the stink of melted vinyl wafts up from the seat where his fingers have dug into the fabric.

I pull the last knot tight.

"There—now—now just let me—" I'm stammering as I fumble through the first aid kit spilled open on the RV's floor. I rip open several packages of gauze and press them over the wound. Danny's hand moves up to put pressure on it without a word. He's done this before. This is _routine_, for him, in fact— I shove away that thought and grab a roll of gauze.

He's already pushing himself into a sitting position. His arm buckles and he nearly falls on top of me—I catch him by the shoulder, which is icy cold and slick with sweat.

Cold is _good_, I remind myself. Ghosts ought to be cold.

He leans on my shoulder as I wrap the gauze around his middle, as tightly as I can manage. Every ragged breath and wince sounds close in my ear. Danny presses his forehead into my neck. It feels like an icepack and sends shivers down my spine.

I've tied off the gauze. Until I get him back home, this is all we can do.

Danny doesn't seem to notice that I've stopped. His entire body is rigid, as if he's holding his breath. I put an arm around his shoulders; in this position I'm nearly holding him in my arms. It feels weird, yet familiar, as if Danny were five again.

"It's okay, now, Danny," I tell him. "You can let it go."

White light washes over both of us. Danny's suddenly heavy against my shoulder, his skin fever-hot after the chill of his ghost form. He shudders and groans.

"You okay?"

"Just _great,_" he moans.

I could have cried with relief. Instead I pat him gently on the back, then help him lie across the seats. There's red dotting the bandage already, but it stays firm. In human form, the dark circles under his eyes are more pronounced. His eyes are shut, his face white; he looks like death chewed him up and spat him back out. It sort of did.

He shivers. I pull a blanket from a drawer under the seat and throw it over him, tucking it around his legs and shoulders.

"Mmm…" He's still conscious, just barely. "Dad?"

I let my hand pause on his chest, resting lightly, relishing the soft rise and fall as he lives and breathes. "Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're here."

I ruffle his sweat-damp hair. I can't help the stupid grin on my face, and how my chest swells with pride. "Me too, buddy."

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><p>AN:

Finally! The second oneshot.

Holy crap guys, thank you for all the reviews! I'm so glad you enjoyed the first story. This one's a bit different in tone, but it still fits thematically, I think. I was fooling around with an ambiguous narrator and ended up using first person, present tense-which is an unusual choice for me, so hopefully I pulled it off well!

The final one will follow as soon as I can get it presentable!

-Hj


	3. A Bad Word

**A Bad Word**

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><p><em>Drenched.<em>

_Drenched _was a good word, Jazz thought, distracted, as she sprinted up the stairs. Her shirt and a good part of her pants had that sopping, clingy feel of being completely soaked through. Her socks slapped against the kitchen floor. She dragged a kitchen chair to the fridge and rummaged through the cabinet above it. They had a first aid kit downstairs, but it wasn't big enough. She needed compress bandages, bigger ones, or maybe a sewing kit, or...

She needed _something_.

Jazz huffed in frustration when she found nothing but mousetraps and empty cardboard boxes. Danny had burned through Mom and Dad's backup supplies ages ago. She slammed the cabinet shut and flicked a stray hair behind her headband. Her fingers brushed her cheek, leaving an icy smear. The sharp acidic smell of the liquid burned fresh in her nose; surprising, since she'd become almost deadened to it in the past few minutes, when...

Jazz swiped away the smear with the back of her wrist. _Smear _was a good word.

She hopped off the chair and grabbed her keys from the kitchen counter, running to the front door. The wet socks squelched into her flats; she tried not to wince. It took her three times to start the car, twice to back it out of the driveway. As soon as the tires hit asphalt she floored it.

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><p>"Miss?" Jazz glanced up, startled, at the tentative voice. Nobody she knew. An old man holding a carton of orange juice, staring at her with a funny look in his eyes. "Miss, are you alright?"<p>

"I'm fine," she responded brightly, hugging the armament of medical odds and ends to her chest and bouncing on the balls of her feet. There were two people in line ahead of her. It was the only register. It would take five minutes. That was longer than the drive home. Five minutes plus five minutes after the five minutes it had taken to get here, a few seconds snatching items off the shelves, and it would have been fifteen minutes since she'd left the basement.

That was too long. She'd have to drive faster.

A hand fell on her shoulder, and Jazz started violently. A package of gauze flew out of her grip and bounced away across the floor. The old man's eyes followed it, then returned to settle on the incriminating packages still in her arms. "Miss, have you been attacked?"

"No sir," she stepped back to remove his hand from her shoulder, and smiled at him, though it felt stretched across her face.

"Are you sure?" His eyes fell lower, on the hem of her sleeve that gleamed a visible green despite the black fabric. "Because you're covered in—"

"My parents are ghost hunters," she interrupted hastily. "Something got spilled, just a little accident. I'll clean up as soon as I get home. Nothing to worry about." The lies bubbled off her lips with all the substance of foam. He didn't look convinced, but at least he stopped asking questions.

Jazz contemplated how crazy pushing aside the man ahead of her would be. The man wore a letterman jacket and had a dozen magazines tucked under his arm, whistling something tuneless as he eyed the candy display. The old lady at the front of the line was paying cash. The cashier counted out her exact change as they chatted about the weather. Jazz decided she didn't care.

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><p><em>Petrified. <em>Petrified was a good word, Jazz thought as she stood on the brink of the laboratory stairs. Her vantage point allowed her to see just how much of the stuff she'd trailed up the stairs in her frantic flight. It looked like the aftermath of a rave, glowing liquid spattered up both walls. Her socks squelched as she rolled on her heels, willing herself to take that first step.

She'd raced her way home, feeling every moment slide away like smoke through her fingertips. But now the reality of all those moments stood in her way like a brick wall.

Jazz had only been down there by chance. With their parents out of town, she'd been tasked with checking on some experiments to make sure nothing exploded. She hadn't even known that Danny had gone to the Ghost Zone. Not until he came flying back through and crashed into a shelf, sending papers and inventions flying, splattering everything vivid green.

He'd collapsed into her arms, wheezing for breath, instantly soaking her in frigid—

Jazz shivered. _Frigid _was a good word.

That icy coolness had faded, leaving her sticky and hot in the half-dried clothes, but goosebumps still prickled on her arms. What if it had been too long? What if he already...what if he'd changed back? What if all that waited for her downstairs was a still, cold body and a wash of green and red?

"Dangit!" The word echoed up to her, sharp and irritated.

Her feet must have made up their mind, because suddenly Jazz was flying down the stairs, grocery bags swinging. She skidded to a stop at the bottom, heart in her mouth, and looked. Danny, shirtless and human, perched on the edge of one of the steel counters with a rag pressed against one shoulder.

He looked up as she came in, taking in the plastic bags still clutched in her fists. "Seriously? You went _shopping_? Thanks a lot, sis. Really could have used your help, you know."

"Danny!" Jazz crossed the room in a breath and seized him by the shoulders. He was alive—he was sitting up, should he be sitting up? Should he be moving? He couldn't be human, that was dangerous. He needed to go ghost, maybe that would slow it down—

"Ouch—that hurts—"

She instantly let go, eyes racing up and down her brother's torso, searching for the gaping wound that had to be there. Scratches, bruises, a cut on his shoulder that left an oozing trail of red down his arm, a spectacular bruise wrapping blotchy and red across the right side of his chest...

Danny ducked his head to catch her eyes. "Hello, earth to Jazz. Wow, you're really freaking out."

"Of course I'm freaking out!" Jazz pointed at the massive green puddle right in front of the portal. "You come back and you're _bleeding out _and there's not one first aid kit in this house that hasn't been reduced to bandaids, and Mom and Dad aren't home and there's—" she gasped in a breath and it was half sob, "—there's, it's all over me and the floor and you're—"

"Jazz, relax! It's not mine. Well, mostly not mine." Danny touched the bruise on his ribcage gingerly. "I got dunked in the stuff; that's when I decided that I'd better cut my losses and come back. The creep after me really got a whack in before I could make it to the portal, knocked the wind out of me."

Jazz collapsed against the table beside Danny, half smiling, half blinking back tears. He was okay. Really okay. "You're sure it's not bad?"

Rolling his eyes, her brother stood up, turning around for her inspection. "See? Fine." He punched her lightly on the arm. "Which I would have _told _you after I caught my breath if you hadn't run off like a crazy person. What was it you just _had _to buy, anyway? Is it some kind of girl thing?" He pulled the bag out of her hand and peered inside. "Your brother gets hurt and you have a sudden urge to own a new pair of shoes? Or...oh."

Danny looked up from the small medical arsenal she'd brought home, something between understanding and guilt hovering in his eyes.

Jazz found herself blushing. "I panicked, alright?"

He set aside the bag and leaned against the table next to her, their arms just touching. "I really scared you, didn't I?"

She covered her mouth with both hands, but couldn't suppress a high-pitched giggle. _Hysteria _was a good word. "I knocked down an old lady to get those for you."

"Really?"

"I thought you were...I was..." Jazz couldn't seem to get out an explanation. She gestured vaguely, then gave up. "It's silly now that I think about it. You get covered in this stuff all the time."

Danny bumped his arm into hers. "I'm fine, totally. I promise."

Biting her lip, she glanced at the gash on his shoulder. It really wasn't all that bad; only a few inches long. "You're still bleeding."

"Okay, totally fine _except _for that one thing." He offered her a lopsided grin. "How's your sewing?"

"Terrible." She wrapped her arms around her brother and hugged him tight.

Jazz could feel Danny chuckle. His warm breath tickled her neck. "What, after all the practice I gave you with Bearburt?"

_Alive, _she thought. Alive was a good word.

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><p><em>~ end ~<em>

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><p><strong>AN:**

Finally, the final installment of this little trio of fics. Mostly because I'm procrastinating from SoaD at the moment.

This was a little challenge to myself, to try to write an entire story while avoiding a word. It's been posted before somewhere, but I can't for the life of me tell you where. I couldn't quite get this fic where I wanted it to be, but eh, it's not going to get better for me staring at it. There's a remote possibility that this series might be added to in the future, but not terribly likely. For the present, at least, I'm calling it complete.

**Thank you for your reviews, everyone! **It's been fun. :)

-Hj


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